


The Way of the Hero

by Lady_Skynet



Category: Neverwinter Nights
Genre: Explosions, F/M, Hero in training, Humor, Self-Discovery, The Sword Coast can thank Brother Merring for her conscience, The reason behind Sir Nervalle's migraines
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25959256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Skynet/pseuds/Lady_Skynet
Summary: Shelyen's life is easy (with only minor explosions to liven things up) until West Harbor is attacked. Now her father has kicked her out, there is weird green extraplanar people trying to kill her, a sharp piece of metal near her heart and everyone keeps giving her dangerous errands she did not sign up for.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	The Way of the Hero

Breath in.

_Focus on the flame._

Breath out.

_You are the flame._

Breath in.

_Feel its warmth. See its radia-_

“Tymora’s tits, Shelly. You have to see this!”

I ducked out as the candle’s previously small, stable flame suddenly flashed in a column of fire that made some interesting changes in Tarmas’ ceiling.

“What the hell, Ames?! Hasn’t anyone told you that interrupting a sorceress’ meditations is a fast way to become a roasted chicken?”

I glared at my friend while looking for my pocket mirror. If I had singed my eyebrows again, I was using Volo as target practice for the week. Amie just waved me off, her attention firmly held by the papers in her hands. Papers that were promptly shoved in my face.

“Oh, shut up! You have to look at these. This year, the Tourney of Talent doesn’t stand a chance against us.”

With the only real competition (for a given value of real, mind you) being Ward Mossfeld and his pixie impressions, that wasn’t anything to write home about. However, Amie was already nervous enough and I sure as hell did not need a repeat of the Cone of Puke from three years ago, not then and definitely not on stage, so I slapped her hand away and snatched what happened to be scrolls. And good ones at that, you know, for real spells. Not flickering lights and Rays of Frost that at most gave you a runny nose. There was an enlargement spell, a basic summoning and… yes, those were some real Burning Hands. I arched and eyebrow at Amie’s direction.

“So, you’ve finally figured out the glyph in the bedroom cabinet?”

“You bet. And the last one is from that book in the false bottom of the sock drawer; the one he thinks we don’t know about. Can you use it?”

“Yeah, sure. But I think is better you memorize all of them. You could enlarge one of the kids at the Tournament and- “

“-and summon a pettable wolf for them, too. Yes, that ought to win them over alright. And the Burning Hands?”

“Take it as well. I already can do it and you can burn something at the Tournament, too.”

Amie looked at me askance.

“Are you sure? With all the children around? I had thought a Ray of Frost would be safer.”

“And boring. This is about showmanship, Amie. Do you remember being seven? Explosions outmatched frostbite any day of the week”.

She snorted, setting down to copy her ill-gained bounty to her spell book.

“For you, they still do”.

* * *

In a small, gods-forsaken swamp village like West Harbor there were few entertainment options for bored youths trying to avoid their responsibilities. Militia training was one of them. Not participating in it, Lathander willing. Giving me a melee weapon of any sort meant grievous injury for everyone in the vicinity except the intended target. No, I usually just sat in the lower branches of the surrounding trees and enjoyed the show.

The older militiamen were actually quite competent, they had to be for the village to survive in a land plagued by lizardfolk, swamp beetles and the occasional zombie. The fresh meat, however, were a completely different story. In the half our I had been watching, Garth Lannon had stabbed himself in the leg, Webb Mossfeld had tripped over his own feet no less than four times and his brother, Wyl, had gotten a rise of Bevil -again- and they were having a brawl more fitting for a tavern floor than a training field. Sometimes I wondered if Georg cried himself to sleep. At least, Liza Lannon was mopping the floor with Ian Harman. I would have wagered Amie’s spellbook that she’d be the next Militia Capitan once Georg retired simply because by then she would have terrorized everybody else into submission.

Yes, future attackers, fear and beware.

Well, at least it was fun to watch.

* * *

Two hours later, I was at the Starling residence cleaning Bevil’s cuts and bruises with Lazlo’s moonshine after assuring good, kind-hearted Retta that his son was a bit battered after a good, totally legitimate spar that had at no time involved scratching or hair-pulling. I was going to the Hells, I know.

“You made me lie to your mother, Bevil. Shame on you.” I chastised him as I gleefully dabbed at his injuries with perhaps a bit more force than was strictly necessary.

You see, Bevil was a Good Boy and his strings couldn’t be more obvious if they were covered in Glitterdust. It was probably why Wyl always managed to get him, but sometimes Amie or I would use it to try and get ideas into his thick skull. Indeed, he flinched and looked at the floor as if it held the most interesting wood pattern in the whole Faerûn.

“I just don’t want Mum to worry. She takes on too much already with the farm and Gerd and Nera. After Lorne, I don’t want to make her think that… that I’ll end up leaving, too.”

Yes, after his brother went completely berserker on Cormick in the Harvest Brawl before leaving to never come back, displays of mindless violence (as petty as they might have been) so close to the celebrations weren’t a good idea. I patted his shoulder and desperately thought in ways to lighten the mood because what I intended to be silly teasing was becoming very depressing very fast. He knew how shitty his family situation was; he sure as hell didn’t need a reminder.

“You know what?”

I said with my best fake cheer” I can stay for dinner and help Retta make a cloudberry pie while you play a bit with the little goblins. Gerd has been asking for swordplay lessons a while now. I think he wants to impress Sera Buckman and ask her to the Ball. I’m sure he could use some big brother advice.”

“Thanks, Shelyen.”

His look made obvious he knew exactly what I was doing, but the sadness in his eyes was mostly gone and he even smiled a little and that was all that mattered. As far as I was concerned, the Starlings deserved the world and everything I could do to repay the kindness they had shown me would never be enough, so I gave him my brightest smile.

“Any time.”

* * *

When I got home, several hours and a good supper later, the house was dark and silent. Given that dad was on his last hunting trip before Galen arrived, I considered that good news. Burglaries were a rare thing in West Harbor, as it often happens in small communities where everybody knows where everyone else sleeps at night and there are plenty of prime locations for burring bodies. However, the silence had an expectant quality I didn’t like, and a chair was suspiciously positioned for easy access to the high shelves of the pantry, what dad had decided -rather naively- it was a safe place to store sweets and other delicacies out of reach of a seven year old.

So, a candy-stealing thief. A short one.

“Hello, Trip. Lovely night for a bit of unlawful intrusion, I take it.” I looked around, but nothing moved” There’s stew in the fireplace, if you want some”.

Still nothing.

“At least, you could try to leave everything where it was. Unless you had to hide mid-heist because you are getting sloppy in your old age. What are you already, ten?”

“Hey!” a little head emerged from inside one of the cupboards in the kitchen” I am eleven. And I’m not sloppy, you old hag! What are you, twenty? And still single, I see. Not that it’s going to change anytime soon, if you keep eating like you do. There ain’t no good cookies left! Only the ones with raisins. And I know there was a whole tray of the sugar glazed ones two days ago”.

“And don’t think I didn’t see you scouting them, you brat. By the way, I’m eighteen and unless you want a Glyph of Warding in the cookie jar, you are going to remember it.” I moved swiftly, blocking his scape from the closet and tried to channel my inner Retta “And now you are going to come out of here, clean up a little and sit at the table like a civilized person to eat dinner -a whole meal, not just dessert-

“You can’t make me.”

“-and if you are a good little boy, I’ll give you a slice of cloudberry pie-

“You’re horrible.”

“-from Retta.”

“…Two slices.”

“Done.”

Two hours later, Kip, the rest of the stew and my apparently not-so-secret raspberry licorice stash were gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I hope you like it. A first chapter of snippets to get a first impression of Shelyen. In the future things are going to be more connected, hopefully. English is not my first language and this project is a fun way for me to improve, so criticism is more than welcome. Please, review and tell me what you think of this.


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